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Thursday, August 11, 2011

Dilapidated [Short Fiction]

(c) Ashish Arora Photography

She stood amidst all the cacophony but not a sound disturbed her. Her petite frame rested on the bonnet of a dusty grey Alto. Hands folded, perhaps, hugging herself- consoling for the years of pain she suddenly felt that the house in front of her, stared back at her. With each step forward she recollected the years she had spent here, assembling them back one by one in her jumbled weak mind. A wave of grief hit her as she climbed the spiral staircase- the rusty handrail rubbed against her white sleeves joining the two cheerful pink floral prints by a tainted brown mark. She stopped and smelt the rust on her sleeve. In the next few minutes she fought her resistance and touched the degenerated steel bar- a feeling of the mixture of cold and dust filled her with welcoming warmth. “I am home! I am home! I am HOME!” she screamed laughing and crying to herself. She entered the house and clung to its walls like worn out plastered paint. Hanging loose but clinging, clinging on to its surface, to all the years, days and moments she had spent here-Her current self attaching to her past through these decrepit walls.

“Its raining!! “ she heard a young lady speak nudging playfully at her husband, nestled in a solo worthy piece of furniture - a sofa cum bed bought in a roadside garage sale. And when it began to pour she saw them walk to the window hand in hand, hearing to splitter splatter symphony, of the rain drops that fell into the planned and placed tubs from the gaps in the ceiling. The young lady’s hands firmly rested on the sill and his hands rested on hers. His face placed parallel to hers balancing on his chin resting lovingly on her shoulder. She saw the young couple deeply in love as they looked out of the window while it rained a million wishes and dreams.

“Was that me? Was it him?” the sudden flash to the past made her look weaker than she was. Her younger self -full of life and fervour paced across the house going about the mundane chores, as her current lifeless, unexplainably depressed self looked in awe. She shut her eyes trying to remember the day when they moved out. It is strange, how a painful memory can appear like a blur after years, confusing one about the root cause of the pain -leading to pointing fingers at self. CLICK HERE to continue reading..

That was a beautiful story, fresh with and without the concept of love. The words have made the story so alive and lively that I felt as if I was witnessing the scene, her thoughts speaking to me. A story worth reading !

Fantastic...Fantastic...the writing is so vivid that it feels like everything is happening in front of my eyes...I have checked out your other writings as well...and you are a breath of fresh air..Thank you!

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